


Do it for me

by silveryogis



Category: Karneval
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Smut, THEY FUCK ON THE WALL THAT'S IT, Wall Sex, idk not really but hey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:19:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveryogis/pseuds/silveryogis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gareki gets ideas and Yogi indulges those ideas because he's Yogi and what else is he supposed to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do it for me

**Author's Note:**

> from tumblr don't look at me

If Gareki had known that Yogi could be like  _this,_ he probably would have started paying more attention to him, a lot sooner.

Yogi’s hands are firm under his legs and the wall is slick against his back (it’s hot, he’s sweating, he’s gonna lose his goddamn mind), and Yogi’s mouth is buried in the hollow juncture between his neck and his shoulder. Gareki swears he’s not gonna make it, not five more minutes, and then Yogi scrapes  _teeth_ against his skin, and that five minutes turns into the five seconds, he’s positive.

It all started not an hour ago, when Gareki tipped his head back and said, thoughtfully, “Fuck me against a wall, sometime.”

That made Yogi choke, a little. 

“What?”

“You heard me.  _Sometime_ , I want you to fuck me against a wall.” Gareki had looked back down at his book, and Yogi (for all he knew) just stared at him, with his eyes wide open in that way he always did when Gareki said something  _crazy_ like that (it wasn’t even that crazy. Being fucked against a wall,  _everyone_  wanted that, he was pretty sure).

“I mean,” he’d mused, turning a page, “there’s nothing wrong with your bed. But it squeaks a lot, you know. I bet everyone always hears us.” He’d turned his eyes slowly around and looked back at him. “Not that you ever keep quiet, anyway.”

At that point, Yogi had turned flustered and affronted, which wasn’t really the place Gareki needed him to be if he wanted him to fuck him into the wall, so he’d gone back to reading and left the topic alone after that.

For a while, neither of them had said anything else; Gareki kept reading and Yogi kept doing…whatever it was he had been doing, and it was only when Gareki got up to go get some food when Yogi stood up to follow him.

They’d walked together through the hallways, and Gareki still turned it over in his head, getting fucked against a wall, trying to figure out exactly how he was gonna persuade Yogi to  _do_ it, when suddenly there were hands on either side of his face and Yogi was kissing him,  _hard_ , in the middle of the goddamn hallway.

Well.

“Were you thinking about what I said?” Gareki had asked, twisting fingers into Yogi’s hair, suppressing the groan that burrowed deep in his throat when Yogi had backed him up against the wall. “Seems a bit public though, don’t you think?”

Did he care? No. Not in the slightest. If anything, it was  _better_ that way, but Yogi (as Yogi always did) seemed to think differently, so he’d just turned a little red and nodded and dragged Gareki off somewhere a little more hidden, some little room in the ship that he’d  _assured him_ nobody ever went in (not even the sheep,  _really, he promised!_ ). 

And that brings him to where he is _now_ , against the wall with Yogi pressed against him, his breath hard and fast. Their clothes are all tangled around Yogi’s feet, and with their chests flush together, Yogi grinds his hips slowly into Gareki’s, holding him up with his hands underneath his legs. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of Yogi’s dick right up against his, Gareki thinks, and he wraps his arms around his neck, kissing him hard and rolling his tongue around his like he thinks it’ll keep Yogi from stopping, somehow.

“Is this the best place,” he pants, gripping his legs around Yogi’s waist, just so he won’t fall on his ass if Yogi accidentally lets go, “to fuck? It’s a fucking closet.”

“Quiet, Gareki-kun,” Yogi says, moving away from his mouth to murmur it into his ear. Gareki has to stop for a second and try to remember when Yogi got so fucking  _sexy._   Because really…he can’t _always_ have been this hot. His voice practically fucking  _purrs_ in his ear, and Gareki throws his head back and moans, shamelessly rolling his hips back against his. Coming, that sounds like a good idea. He really wants to do  _that._ He wants to grind himself down on Yogi’s dick until he comes, right here in this fucking closet, before anyone can—

Yogi’s fingernails bite into his skin, a little, and he shoves him a little harder against the wall. “Hey,” he says, his voice all kinds of ragged. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” 

“Don’t— _move_ like that, you’re going to make both of us finish before—”

Oh, that’s  _interesting._ That’s  _good._ Gareki tilts his head to the side, and rolls his hips more slowly, but tries to rut against him harder. “What?” he asks. “Are you telling me…I  _can’t_ come?”

Yogi doesn’t get it right away. He just lets out a quiet little moan, and pants against Gareki’s shoulder—Gareki thinks for a second that if he was strong enough,  _he’d_ be the one fucking  _Yogi_ into the wall, but that’s just not how it is. “Telling you that you can’t—?”

“I  _said_ —” and Gareki mouths down Yogi’s neck, makes his voice as husky as he possibly can so he knows Yogi will  _get_ it, “—are you telling me that  _I can’t come yet?”_

There’s a beat, and Yogi draws his head away from Gareki shoulder to look him in the eyes—Yogi’s nose pushes against his and he nods, once, slowly.

“Y—yes,” he says, just the slightest bit uncertainly. “You can’t. You can’t come yet.”

“Oh,” Gareki arches his back. “Why not? You’re so  _good_ , Yogi, you’ve got me against this wall and your dick feels so—” he grinds harder, “— _good_ against mine. I want to come, I want you to make me come  _so hard_ —”

Yogi’s voice is a gasp. “You can’t,” he says, he  _orders_ , and that’s just what Gareki wanted; he thinks he feels a bit dizzy. “Don’t come yet. Don’t. I haven’t…I haven’t fucked you yet.”

And Yogi, Yogi just  _talking like that_ is enough to make him come, but for both of their sakes he doesn’t. How, he has no idea. He thinks he deserves a fucking medal.

“Then start fucking me already,” he pants, groaning as Yogi lifts him up a little higher against the wall. “What the hell are you even waiting for?”

Yogi doesn’t answer him, but he kisses his chest and slicks up one of his fingers and pushes it slowly inside him. 

Sometimes, Gareki likes to prep himself. He likes watching Yogi’s face as he does it, he likes touching himself in front of him. It’s his reactions he loves more than anything, the way he blushes and fidgets. But Yogi’s good at it too (better than he used to be, that’s for damn sure), and even if he does it more carefully than Gareki would usually like, he’s good, and his fingers are  _just_ long enough to brush over that spot, and Gareki loves losing his mind at that.

“Yeah,” he nods, breathing hard through his mouth. “Come on, give me more.”

“You’re not ready for more,” Yogi insists, kissing up his neck. “Relax.”

“I’m up against a fucking wall with your finger up my ass,” Gareki complains, arching his back as much as he can. “I can’t relax.  _Give me more._ ”

He complies, Yogi, and pushes a second finger up into him, slowly and meticulously stretching him out. Gareki squirms down onto his fingers, aching to be touched in that spot again, murmuring lazy and quiet stretches of praise while Yogi preps him. Being fingered isn’t as good as being fucked, but…what  _is?_

“There, Gareki-kun?”

“Almost.” Gareki twists his fingers in Yogi’s hair, pulling his head back so he can kiss him again. He feels Yogi add a third finger, and it feels so  _big_ , so good that he gasps into his mouth and down his throat, digging his fingernails against his scalp. Yogi keeps him pinned against the wall, drags his fingers out. That’s a shame, such a damn shame, Gareki thinks—he complains and grinds his dick against Yogi’s some more, keeping his ankles hooked around his waist, and Yogi’s slick fingers grip around underneath his thighs, keeping him supported.

For a few seconds, Yogi struggles with getting the lube on his dick (his hands are pretty full), so Gareki mouths along his jaw and reaches for it. “Let me do it,” he offers, his chest rising and falling hard against the one pressed against his. 

“Okay.” Yogi lets him, and Gareki watches his eyelids flutter as he slicks his cock for him. He loves touching him, just fucking  _loves_ it, especially when Yogi makes those soft little noises in the back of his throat, when his mouth drops open and he gets that hazy look on his face. 

With both of his arms, Yogi lifts him just a little higher against the wall, and Gareki  braces his hands on his shoulders, his legs spread as far as he can make them go. As he eases himself inside (and Yogi always does it this way, without fail), he showers quick little kisses all over his face, like each one is an apology for something. Yogi’s afraid of  _hurting_ him. Gareki doesn’t think he knows that he wants that, sometimes.

“Fuck,” Gareki breathes out. He already feels a little dizzy, just having something that big in his ass is enough to make him feel like that, but the fact that it’s  _Yogi_ just makes it even worse. Yogi and his skin that smells like soap, his warm mouth and his fucking  _body_.

“Don’t—” Yogi tells him, his voice shaky. “You still can’t come yet, alright?”

“Me?” Gareki lets out a hoarse laugh and takes a sharp inhale of breath when Yogi starts moving. “I’m more worried about  _you_.”

Yogi just groans and moves his hands underneath Gareki’s ass, panting with the effort of holding him up. Gareki wonders if his arms are starting to burn. Of course, he has  _really nice fucking arms,_ Yogi. It’s almost like this is what arms were made for in the first place, for fucking someone against a wall. He drags his palms up his arms, up and around his shoulders, and down his muscled back, drawing lines down the groove of his spine. 

“Move,” Gareki groans, ordering him,  _demanding_ that he move, because it burns and his ass feels so  _full_ that he can hardly stand it. “I want you,” he says, gripping his hands in Yogi’s hair. He pulls on it, a little, and Yogi whines. Gareki says it again,  _I want you_ , and he starts chanting it, his breath catching in his throat when Yogi really  _does_ start to move. 

Keeping him braced hard against the wall, Yogi digs his fingers into his ass, fucking up into him as hard as he can without  _dropping_ him. It’s an impressive feat. It’s so impressive, Gareki would almost tell him  _how_ impressive it was, if only he weren’t feeling like his dick was going to fucking burst. 

“Is that—” Yogi pants, his voice strained and heavy, “—good? Do you feel good?”

Gareki can only curse. “Fuck,” he says, dropping his head into Yogi’s shoulder, gripping around him with his arms and legs like he’s just holding on for dear fucking life. Yogi’s dick is good, it’s  _always_ been the best thing he’s ever had inside him, and he’s starting to fuck into him so  _hard_ , so _recklessly_ , that Gareki can hardly  _think,_ let alone  _articulate_ how he feels. His own cock is rubbing against Yogi’s stomach and he really feels like he’s going to come at any second. He wants to. He wants it. 

“It’s good,” he manages, trying to hold onto any scraps of clarity he has left. Yogi moans into his ear, loud and good. Gareki moans back, gasping. “Nothing is as good as this, Yogi, nothing.”

Yogi whines. Shit, Gareki loves how Yogi whines when he  _wants_ something. He loves the noises Yogi makes when he gets close, when he gets desperate—he can hear the way his breath catches and the way his words get needy, thick, heavy. “You feel amazing,” Yogi says, voice strangled. He loves that Yogi needs him for this.

“Shit,” Gareki says, yanking on his hair. “You’re gonna make me—”

“— _Good_ ,” Yogi finishes for him, swallowing the word by kissing him, hard. “Do it for me, Gareki-kun.”

Fuck. Gareki chokes on his own breath and knocks his head back against the wall, swearing and moaning and saying just about any damn word that comes into his head, because Yogi deserves them. He deserves to know how good he is at this, how much Gareki  _needs this, more than anything._

And for Yogi and no other reason, Gareki yells his name when he comes, mouth buried back in Yogi’s shoulder with his teeth scraping against his skin, shuddering against his body and with his back still so firmly pressed against the wall. He comes all over Yogi’s stomach and his own, and he just  _buzzes_ with relief so much that he finds himself wondering, again, why they don’t do this every five minutes.

He makes sure to pick his head back up and watch Yogi when he comes, because Yogi’s face is the best when he does. He’s just beautiful, like that. Just fucking beautiful. 

Yogi comes, and he does it loudly, like always—Gareki can hear the suppressed shout in the back of his throat before it turns into a loud cry of  _“Gareki, Gareki, Gareki_ ,” and Gareki watches the way his face screws up, his bottom lip between his teeth. Gareki puts his hand to the side of his face and pushes it back up through his hair. He loves Yogi’s hair.

Yogi just looks at him, and he presses his forehead against Gareki’s. They both take a second to catch their breath, and carefully, Yogi lets Gareki’s feet back against the floor. For a second, he feels like he doesn’t even remember how to  _stand_ —but he leans back against the wall and Yogi just leans against him, obviously exhausted.

They sink down to the floor, and Yogi rests his head on Gareki’s chest while they both recover. Gareki’s ass already feels sore. Yogi looks like he wants to sleep for  _years_ (but sex  _always_ does that to him). While they sit there, on the floor in a closet, Gareki just runs his fingers through Yogi’s hair and breathes. 

“Did you like it, Gareki-kun?” Yogi asks, his voice sleepy. He props his chin on his chest and looks up at him, his violet eyes half lidded and happy looking. “Against the wall like that, I mean.”

Gareki shrugs, and gives his hair a playful tug before he smirks, just a little. 

“We’re doing it again.”


End file.
